


House of Traitors

by thephilosophersapprentice



Series: The Reluctant Empress AU [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Female Obi-Wan Kenobi, Gen, Genderbending, all the worst things happen to Obi-Wan, semi-graphic depictions of injuries, well you'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-13 12:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephilosophersapprentice/pseuds/thephilosophersapprentice
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi failed on Mustafar. The penalty of her failure--life under an empire. Of course, Obi-Wan has never been good at accepting defeat.However, when fighting the Sith, there's always the danger of becoming what one hates.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This work exists largely because of FireflyFish, so be sure to thank her if you liked it. And before you ask, I do have an idea where I'm going. I'm just not sure how to get there.  
> Well, here goes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Clone Wars are over. Padme Amidala waits for news. Unfortunately, she's not about to be disappointed.

_House of traitors, house of glass, house of crumbling stone;_

_The Childlike Queen, the Chosen One, the one who walks alone._

_House of embers, house of ashes, house of devouring flame;_

_Challenge history to be remade, lest all remains the same._

_House of shadows, house of sorrows, house of joys long lost;_

_How long to make a house a home, and how much does it cost?_

* * *

 

Padmé sat alone in a dark room, numbed by the day’s events. She had not gone out all day, except to go to the Senate to hear the Chancellor’s—the _Emperor’s_ —announcement. She was spiritually and metaphorically in the dark, as well as physically; she hung in fear and confusion, waiting for information, waiting for sense to come from the mess of shock and terror.

The distinctive sound of a Jedi light interceptor landing on the private platform outside had Padmé leaping to her feet and pressing the button to summon Typho and Teckla. She ran outside to see Anakin climbing out of his fighter, lifting what appeared to be no more than a limp bundle of rags out from the space around the seat. As Padmé came closer, she saw pale skin, a short lock of ginger hair. “Anakin, what happened?” she demanded, torn between concern for her husband and concern for her friend. She hurried alongside Anakin to check Obi-Wan’s pulse.

“She’s only unconscious,” Anakin said. Padmé found the pulse point at Obi-Wan’s throat. It felt faint, but rapid, and Obi-Wan’s skin was clammy. Suspicion coiled in Padmé’s chest.

“What happened, Anakin?” Padmé asked, this time with steel in her voice. Anakin ignored her and took Obi-Wan inside, laying her down on the couch. Teckla appeared, looking white and frightened, like a ghost in the gloom.

“Teckla, get me the med kit,” Padmé said, stripping off Obi-Wan’s cloak, which reeked of sulfur and ash. “Anakin, you don’t need to be here.”

“But—” Anakin protested.

“Anakin, _go_ ,” Padmé said, sternly. Frowning, Anakin went towards the bedroom. Padmé began to strip off Obi-Wan’s belt and tabards. “Gloves?” she asked. Teckla put a pair into her hands and Padmé pulled them on. She slashed Obi-Wan’s undertunic and pulled it away from her chest. There were no visible wounds on the front of Obi-Wan’s body. With Teckla’s help—though with no small difficulty—Padmé turned Obi-Wan over. She gasped in horror.

Across Obi-Wan’s left shoulder blade and down across her back in an ugly, charred arc was a burn not quite like anything Padmé had seen before. It was not shrapnel, or from a blaster, and the edges were puckered, as if something had been dragged through the resisting, torn skin. Whatever had inflicted the injury had cut clean through the strap of Obi-Wan’s brassiere; it fell away as they turned her over.

“Shouldn’t we take her to a med center?” Teckla whispered, in repulsed fascination.

“No hospitals. Not after what’s happened today.” Teckla swallowed and nodded. Silently, she offered Padmé the disinfectant.

The wound was fortunately shallow, but the burns were severe, and wide—almost four centimeters at the widest. It took Padmé a long time to finish cleaning and disinfecting the injury. The cut was too large to be covered by a single bacta patch, so Padmé dabbed bacta on it and wrapped it in bandages.

“There’s a blaster wound too,” Teckla said, still whispering. Padmé nodded, though she had barely noticed the blaster burn after the horror of the unknown injury.

As Padmé was cleaning the burn, Obi-Wan stirred slightly. Padmé cursed. “The painkiller hypo, Teckla, quick!”

“Firefek. We should have done that first,” Teckla gritted out, snatching up the disposable hypodermic and snapping off the seal. Finding the right vein, she injected the medication. Padmé smoothed a bacta patch over the blaster burn. Obi-Wan groaned into the couch and tried to push herself up. Padmé cried out in alarm as her careful handiwork on Obi-Wan’s shoulder shifted.

“Don’t move, Master Kenobi,” Teckla said. “We’ve just finished patching you up!” Obi-Wan froze at the unfamiliar voice, but her muscles tensed.

Signaling Teckla to be silent, Padmé spoke up. “Obi-Wan, it’s me, Padmé. You’re in my apartments on Coruscant. You’re safe. That’s Teckla Minnau, my aide. We’ve taken care of your injuries, but you have to let us help you sit up.”

Between them, Padmé andTeckla managed to help Obi-Wan sit up. She sat amid the mangled remains of her tabards, clutching her ruined tunic across her chest to maintain her modesty. “Teckla, please go find something for Obi-Wan to wear,” Padmé asked. Teckla nodded and went out. Obi-Wan inhaled slowly, looking up at Padmé, her face blank, her eyes distrustful; like a cornered animal, sizing Padmé up. “Did Anakin do this to you?” Padmé asked. Obi-Wan did not so much as twitch a muscle.

“You and Anakin are together, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question; not as flatly put as it was. “You’re even married.” Padmé swallowed at the accusation. She had thought of this woman as a friend. She hadn’t realized just how perilous that friendship might be.

“What has he done?” she asked, her voice raw with a hollow anticipation of horror.

“Palpatine is a Sith Lord,” Obi-Wan said, her voice devoid of emotion. “He has claimed Anakin as his apprentice.” Padmé grabbed Obi-Wan’s arm.

“You say that as if it means everything,” she said in a fierce whisper, “but it doesn’t. You called the Zabrack assassin thirteen years ago a Sith. You talk nonsense to me about some godforsaken hellhole called Zigoola. You say you trust me, but you never tell me anything! It might as well all be part of some elaborate fantasy.”

“I’m a _part_ of that fantasy,” Obi-Wan said softly.

“No, you’re not! You’re flesh and blood. You carved out a legacy by sweat and blood and tears. How is that not real?” Obi-Wan was silent for a long moment. Padmé blinked furiously. “Please, Obi-Wan. You’re scaring me.”

Padmé’s forgotten drink from earlier in the day sat on the end table. It flew to Obi-Wan’s hand without spilling a drop. Padmé swallowed, but Obi-Wan merely handed her the glass. “You’ve seen Anakin in action. You’ve seen me. Ahsoka, too. We were a formidable force in the cause of justice and liberty. Imagine that turned against everything we believe in. Against the Jedi Temple, for example.” Padmé’s mouth dropped open, but Obi-Wan went on talking. “That is what a Sith Lord is. I don’t know any better way to explain it to you without a whole history lecture and a thousand different concepts you might not even understand.”

“What has he _done_?” Padmé whispered. Obi-Wan turned away, her lips pressed firmly together.

“What have I failed to do, more like.”

“They sent you to _kill_ him? How could they! You practically raised him! How could they ask that of you?”

“I was the only one left,” Obi-Wan said seriously. “There was no one else.”

“No. Stop that. Take a stand for yourself. You need to take time for yourself; you need to grieve. They asked too much of you.”

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan said,solemnly, “it’s not the Jedi way.”

“To _hell_ with the Jedi Way!” Padmé shouted. “To hell with your kriffing childhood indoctrination. You are _not_ the problem here, Obi-Wan! It’s your superiors who are the problem. They run you ragged; they require more of you than you’re capable of giving!”

“If I am _willing_ ,” Obi-Wan started, but was interrupted by a cough. Both women looked up at the doorway, where Teckla stood, holding a folded blouse of Padmé’s.

“I hate to intrude,” she said. “I hope this fits.” Silently, Obi-Wan reached up for it, flinching visibly as it pulled at her injured shoulder and back. Teckla frowned. “You’ll probably need help dressing until that starts to heal,” she said sympathetically.

“I think I can manage,” Obi-Wan said, grabbing the blouse with her right hand. She levitated it over her head and slid it on over her good arm, but struggled with her left. Padmé helped her to get her hand into the sleeve. Obi-Wan grimaced, but didn’t say anything.

“We need to get her off-world somehow,” Teckla said to Padmé. “It’s not safe.”

“I don’t see how we can get her out immediately,” Padmé replied.

“Anakin wouldn’t like it,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “I don’t know why he left me alive, but he must have had a reason.”

“Anakin isn’t like that!” Padmé hissed between her teeth.

“You saw the Temple burn. Younglings are _dead_. Face it, Padmé. We don’t _know_ what Anakin is like!”

“Anakin isn’t like what?”

Padmé whirled around. Anakin stood in the doorway, watching them. Obi-Wan still, her lips pressed firmly together. Anakin walked across the room to stand in front of her. “How are you, Obi-Wan? Feeling better now?” Obi-Wan remained silent. “Obi-Wan?” Still no response. She sat perfectly still, in Padmé’s ill-fitting blouse, staring levelly up at Anakin. Anakin gave a snort of exasperation. “Obi-Wan, I know you can hear me. I can tell. You didn’t bump your head, Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan did not move, did not make a sound. Anakin turned to Padmé. “ _Is_ she all right?”

“No,” Padmé said bitterly. “I don’t think she is.” Anakin scowled.

“You took care of her, didn’t you?” he asked sarcastically.

“She’d been slashed as well as shot, Anakin. Was it you who cut her open all over again?”

“I was defending myself!” Anakin protested, his face thunderous. “I had to stop her somehow!”

“Listen to yourself! You _know_ that Obi-Wan would never attack you, except if she had some overpowering reason! They probably sent her to _kill_ you, Anakin! Why do you think that was?”

“Because they’re all Force-damned traitors!” Anakin shouted.

“Traitors to the Republic? Or traitors to Palpatine?” Anakin gritted his teeth together furiously.

“Oh, not you too.”

“Obi-Wan was acting under orders. Just like you. But she didn’t kill you. Think about that.” Padmé grabbed Obi-Wan’s good arm and led her out of the room. She headed back toward the guest bedroom, Obi-Wan following her rather than walking with her. It wasn’t until she was seated on the bed that Obi-Wan spoke.

“I would have killed him. If I had gotten the chance.” Padmé sucked in a breath.

“Obi-Wan!”

“I would have regretted it,” she said quietly. “But I would have done it all the same.” Padmé swallowed hard.

“Well… good night,” she said, uncomfortably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April 2: edited to include preface poem.


	2. Battlefields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Padme reaches out; Obi-Wan relates the end of the war. Anakin consistently makes things worse. (Things get a lot more interesting soon, I promise.)

Obi-Wan slept for most of the following day. At least, that was what Padmé thought, until she checked on Obi-Wan again after coming back from the Senate in the afternoon. Obi-Wan was lying on her right side on the bed, her eyes open.

“Obi-Wan?” Padmé asked. No response. “Obi-Wan, please get up.” Obi-Wan didn’t move. Padmé sat down on the bed, grasping for any idea what to do. “Do you know how to cook?” she asked. “I want to make something for dinner. Is there something you’d like?” Still no response. Padmé stood up. “We’re making dinner,” she said cheerfully. There was no sound as she walked down the hall, but she didn’t look behind her. When she arrived at the kitchen, she glanced around to see Obi-Wan standing, leaning her right side against the cabinets, one eyebrow raised. Padmé started.

“Sorry,” she said apologetically. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Force of habit,” Obi-Wan said. It wasn’t an apology.

“What do you want to make?” Padmé asked. Obi-Wan shrugged. “Do you have any favorites? I know you eat salad a lot, but I’d like to make something a little more robust tonight.”

“Roasted pepper soup, I think,” Obi-Wan said, after a moment’s thought.

“That’s a bit of an unusual comfort food,” Padmé commented. “Labor-intensive.” Obi-Wan half-smiled.

“Qui-Gon didn’t particularly like it,” she said. “Maybe because I used to throw a hot pepper in with the sweet ones.”

“Let’s not go too spicy today,” Padmé said, cautioning her friend. “I don’t like really hot foods. Do you have any food allergies other than hoi-broth?”

“Meliswden berries and a lot of things originating from Felbon,” Obi-Wan said. “Felbonian foods tend to be common allergens for people from Stewjon.”

“I didn’t know that,” Padmé commented, pulling things out of the pantry and conservator. Obi-Wan half-smiled again.

“Stewjon’s a small, out-of-the way planet. I wouldn’t expect you to know.”

As they seeded peppers, Padmé asked, trying to sound casual, “What happened yesterday?” Obi-Wan stopped chopping peppers and straightened up.

“Dear Force, what a question.” She swallowed. “I suppose you were there when Palpatine declared himself emperor.”

“Of course,” Padmé said. “But what… what _else_ happened? I saw smoke rising from the Temple. Palpatine called the Jedi traitors and assassins.”

“The clones turned on us,” Obi-Wan said softly. “I don’t understand how—or why. Somehow, they all answered to Palpatine. I felt a sudden scream—thousands upon thousands of voices—and then the Force began to burn and twist and writhe and the world went dark. I don’t know why _I’m_ still alive, how I survived. The Council might say it was the will of the Force, but that’s no consolation. I can’t see why I lived. There doesn’t seem to be any point. Everyone I ever cared about—my friends—anyone who cared about me—is dead.” Padmé put down her paring knife and wrapped her arms around Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“I can’t imagine what that must feel like,” she said softly. Obi-Wan’s chest heaved in a dark laugh.

“Don’t worry, there’s still a chance you might,” she said. The black humor sent a chill through Padmé’s chest.

“What happened _then_ , Obi-Wan?” Padmé asked sternly, controlling the pulse of fear through her stomach.

“You won’t like it,” Obi-Wan observed quietly. “You might be happier not knowing.”

“A wise woman once told me that it’s better to face a painful truth than to live a blissful lie,” Padmé replied. Obi-Wan shook her head.

“That was before today.”

“If I haven’t got my integrity, Obi-Wan. What have I got?” Padmé asked urgently.

“Nothing,” Obi-Wan said softly. “You’ve got _nothing_.” She straightened her spine and took a step away from Padmé. “I escaped in Grievous’ ship. Bail went searching for survivors of the massacre. I contacted him and met Yoda there. We agreed that we had to go to the Temple and re-wire the beacon to tell every Jedi to stay away from the Temple. It was a death trap. We were successful, fortunately, though maybe it was already too late. I went into the security recordings, though Yoda warned me not to. Of course, like an idiot, I went on. Anakin was responsible for _all_ of it. Palpatine was the Sith Lord that we’d been looking for all along, and Anakin called him ‘master.’ Yoda told me we had to stop them and sent me to find and face Anakin.

“I couldn’t sense Anakin. Our bond—it’s gone silent, it’s been ripped to shreds. I don’t think he did it deliberately—it wasn’t the sort of thing he’d think of, to be honest—and neither was blocking me out—but there was just so much death and pain, the Force was overwhelmed with it. But I had all the pieces in my hands, then, and maybe, I thought, I could beat Sidious at his own game. I didn’t want to risk involving you, so I used my wits.

"What was the next thing Sidious would do, after he got rid of the Jedi—the only people ready and willing and strong enough to stand against him? He’d want to get rid of his other liabilities—the Separatist Council. He was controlling them all along, so they’d answer to him after Dooku’s death, but at the same time they could reveal his duplicity to the galaxy. He wouldn’t entrust it to just any of his servants, though—he’d use his new apprentice. Where would he send the Separatists in order to kill them? Somewhere out of the way, naturally. Sidious had used Mustafar before, during the war—he kidnapped Force-sensitive children and hid them on Mustafar, presumably to experiment on them. That was when we first began to suspect how deep the Sith conspiracy lay. All the details were there, in Anakin’s mission report; I could recall them with perfect clarity. My chain of reasoning seemed sound, so I went to Mustafar. And there, I found Anakin. If only I had been sooner, I might have caught him in time—before he killed again. As it was, I was too late.

“I tried to reason with him, and he tried to reason with me. He told me I’d been brainwashed, indoctrinated. I asked him what he thought he was doing. He told me he was bringing an end to the war, asked me wasn’t that what I wanted all along. It only got worse from there. One word led to another and he attacked me.

“It was the worst fight of my life, the most difficult duel I’ve ever fought. I couldn’t really believe what was happening, that Anakin had turned on me.” Obi-Wan swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I had him almost at my mercy at several points—I was his teacher. I knew his style. I realized at last that I’d never be able to bring myself to kill him.” Obi-Wan laughed bitterly. “Yoda made a mistake.” She paused, then said quietly, “I don’t know why Anakin left me alive.”

“Because he couldn’t kill you, either,” Padmé said firmly. Obi-Wan shook her head.

“I wonder.” She gave Padmé a tired look. “Prepare yourself, Padmé. I think you’re going to see how the Dark Side twists love over the next few months.”

“This is it, isn’t it,” Padmé said in wonder. “You’ve finally given up. You’ve given in to despair.”

“ _This_ is realism, Padmé. This is the fact of our existence right now.”

“You, of all people, _can’t_ give up!” Padmé shouted. Obi-Wan shook her head.

“What if there is nothing left of our Anakin?” Padmé laughed incredulously.

“Is this what you did when Anakin fell?” she accused. “You just _gave up_ on him? Is that why the man I loved is gone now, maybe forever?” She regretted the cruel words instantly. Obi-Wan’s gray eyes flashed and she took a step closer to Padmé, suddenly menacing. Padmé stepped back, taken aback.

“How dare you,” Obi-Wan said frostily. “If I had known, I would have helped him in a heartbeat. Even if it had killed me, I would’ve helped him.”

“You weren’t there,” Padmé said nervously, attempting to placate the Jedi Master. “You couldn’t have been.”

“I should have been,” Obi-Wan said, her eyes hard.

Padmé swallowed. She had pushed it too far. She’d assumed. And she had assumed wrongly. She had never seen Obi-Wan at her limits before. She had never seen Obi-Wan angry. This was the Obi-Wan who faced the Separatists on the battlefield and fought Sith Lords to a standstill. This Obi-Wan could talk until the opposition caved and kill without a second thought.

Padmé didn’t think she liked this side of her friend.

She found herself in a sudden, intense staring contest. Obi-Wan held her gaze tight; Padmé couldn’t look away. Obi-Wan broke eye contact after a few moments, releasing her, and went back to seeding peppers.

Anakin must be insane, to not be afraid of this woman.

The front door opened and closed, and Anakin came into the kitchen. “The galaxy is in chaos,” he said in disgust. “It won’t last, though. We finally have peace.”

“At what price?” Padmé asked. Anakin didn’t answer. He pulled Padmé in close and kissed her.

Obi-Wan ignored them both and went on chopping vegetables.

Anakin walked over and put his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. She paused for a moment, then carried on chopping. “We’ll have to keep your presence secret for a few days, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said. “If you wandered outside now, the people would tear you apart as a Jedi traitor.” Padmé thought she caught a hint of smugness in his voice. Obi-Wan apparently didn’t miss it, either. She deliberately set down the knife, slapped Anakin’s right hand away and spun around.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” she snapped. Anakin’s mechanical hand closed around her wrist with a crushing grip. He manhandled her brusquely out into the living room. Padmé gave a cry of alarm, but Anakin took no notice. Obi-Wan stared at Anakin, her eyes gone cold.

“Let. Me. Go.”

“I won’t let you,” Anakin said, his voice deep, grating, menacing. Obi-Wan pulled Anakin’s arm up and over her head, whipping herself free in an instant.

“You murdered my _friends_ ,” she said, her voice crackling with a furious energy. “Garen, Reeft, Basil, Adi, Kit—they’re all _dead_!” Anakin took a swing at her. Obi-Wan twisted to one side, chopping at his wrist with the edge of her hand. She ducked away from Anakin’s counterattack and stood, feet apart, knees bent. “Did Bant give you any message for me before she died?” she hissed through clenched teeth. Anakin reached out and caught her in a chokehold. She dangled in midair, struggling vainly.

“Don’t you see, I did it for _you!_ ” Anakin ground out, shaking her fiercely, then releasing her. Obi-Wan stood up, coughing and rubbing her throat.

“Did you, Anakin?” she said quietly. “Or did you do it for your fears’ sake?”

She headed for the door. Anakin grabbed her arm.

“You’ll stay here.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan raised her eyebrows ironically. “Sidious wants me _dead_. He doesn’t care about anything, except that you serve him. The fewer liabilities he has—and that includes Padmé, too—the better, as far as he’s concerned. If you really wanted what’s best for _us_ , Anakin, you’d _run_. As fast and as far from Palpatine as possible.”

“At least Palpatine got _results_ ,” Anakin gritted.

“At what cost?” Obi-Wan demanded. “Was it worth it?”

“Isn’t it a bit late to start questioning everything?” Anakin growled.

“Shall I tell you a story, Anakin?” Obi-Wan bit out. “I studied history before I opted to become a Guardian. I kept studying history. I think you might have been well served by such studies, if you had paid any attention.” She took a deep breath.

“If there’s something I know, Anakin, it’s that violent revolution rarely gives rise to permanent, lasting change. You’ve had your revolution; now what?” Now you’ve got to rebuild. You’ve got to rebuild from the ground up, and you might just slip back into the old problems you tried to escape in the past.”

“That won’t happen,” Anakin replied confidently. “Palpatine is wise.”

“Hm. In nine cases out of ten, when one forceful personality spearheads the revolution—or rises in the ensuing chaos—they ended by becoming a dictator,” Obi-Wan said. “Palpatine doesn’t want order, Anakin. He wants power.”

“At least this way things will get done,” Anakin growled.

“Listen to yourself! What happened to the little boy who wanted to go home and free all the slaves? Or did he just want the power to join the slavemasters?”

The blow snapped Obi-Wan’s head sharply to the side, the sound of synthetic skin and leather meeting flesh sickening. The Jedi Master fell back, half-stunned.

“Anakin!” Padmé shouted. He turned to look at her, his face a twisted mask of rage, and she swallowed, but continued sternly. “Stop this at once,” she commanded. Hurt seeped into Anakin’s eyes.

“You’re taking _her_ side?” he demanded. “Did you _hear_ what she _said_ to me?”

“You’re _both_ at fault,” Padmé said firmly. “Stop fighting. We’re not enemies here.”

“Did you hear that, Obi-Wan?” Anakin said mockingly. “We’re not enemies. You can stop fighting now.” Obi-Wan got to her feet slowly, her eyes blazing an awful anger. Padmé put a hand on the Jedi Master’s shoulder, holding her back as best as she could.

“Obi-Wan, you should leave _now_ ,” she said. “Or else show me you’re capable of controlling your temper.” Obi-Wan swallowed. Her eyes still betrayed her anger, every muscle still taut and straining, but she nodded coldly to Anakin.

“How long before your next _assignment_?” she asked frostily.

“Palpatine didn’t give me any orders,” Anakin said, eyes gleaming—in triumph? He didn’t know Obi-Wan at all, if he thought he’d won a victory here. “We can have a little family time.” Obi-Wan stood and pushed past him, to the guest bedroom she currently occupied, and the door closed behind her. Anakin made an aborted attempt at following her, but Padmé stepped in his way.

“What the hell do you think you’re _doing_?” she demanded. “Obi-Wan’s your master—your dearest friend! Why are you tormenting her like this?”

“Why are you taking her part?” Anakin demanded.

“Because I don’t know what’s happened to you, Ani. This isn’t you at all.” Padmé shook her head, looking away. “I keep expecting to wake up from this nightmare. The longer it goes on, the less convinced I am it’s real.” Anakin tried to embrace her, but Padmé turned away, heading back into the kitchen.

The soup was just starting to boil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. It has come to my attention that I neglected to clearly state the time frame of this story. It takes place shortly after Ahsoka Tano left the Jedi Order, but Padme has not conceived Luke and Leia yet.  
> Also, I should warn you not to get used to regular updates. I only have about three chapters finished, so once they're up I'll have to post chapters as I finish them.


	3. Stirrings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan can't meditate, Anakin can't capitulate, and Padme talks to Bail.

Obi-Wan sat on the neatly-made bed and tried to meditate, but all she could find was Coruscant’s noise and the myriad troubles of its billions of inhabitants.

The reassuring presence of the Jedi at the back of her mind was entirely gone. She hadn’t been aware just how much she had relied on that sensation until it was gone. For a moment, the sheer hollowness and cold of the churning, tumultuous Force nearly tipped her over the edge and into a flashback—Jabiim. Rattataki. _Ventress_ —but she seized control of herself at the critical moment.

 _I am not there_ , she told herself.

Mocking, her personal tormentor retorted, _No, we’re someplace far worse_.

The sudden sensation of being _back there_ remained, the emotions pouring through her veins like ice water. _No_ , she told herself.

Everyone was dead.

Qui-Gon. All her friends and agemates. Perhaps even Yoda.

And Anakin had betrayed her.

Ever since Mortis, she had hoped, and waited, and prayed that faith would be enough.

Faith had not been enough.

 _I am truly alone_.

* * *

 

“Your master is not someone you can put on the back bench,” Padmé said, closing the door behind Anakin. “You can’t lock her up away from the world and call that protection. You’re hurting her by doing it.”

“What do you want me to do?” Anakin said angrily. “If we let her out, she’s a Jedi. She’ll be killed.”

“If we get her off Coruscant, she’ll go into hiding and she’ll _wait_ ,” Padmé countered.

“No she won’t. She’ll take her wrong-headed ideas with her and she’ll start a revolution. You said yourself that she can’t keep still.”

“Have you _ever_ seen her imprisoned before?” Padmé whispered, disbelieving. “I can’t believe you’re voluntarily putting her through this!”

“She is _not_ a prisoner!” Anakin hissed through his teeth.

“Yes, she _is_ ,” Padmé insisted. “We’re more humane than Ventress or Keeper Agruss, maybe, but we are no less her jailors than they were. She practically raised you. You spent every day of the last thirteen years with her, and you still don’t _understand_ her. How can you be so self-absorbed?”

“I am not selfish!” Anakin gritted out.

“You’re oblivious and thoughtless, and that’s the worst kind of selfishness, Anakin, and it’s exactly because you think you’re _not_ selfish.” Padmé went on, sharply, before Anakin could speak again. “I _love_ you, Anakin. That does not mean that I am blind to your faults.”

“These past few days have been nothing but Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan!” Anakin seethed.

“I’m not allowed to have friends, Anakin?” Padmé raised an eyebrow.

“That’s not friendship, Padmé, it’s obsession!”

“This isn’t love, Anakin! It’s jealousy! It’s possessiveness.” Padmé turned away. “I’m afraid we’ll both become only too familiar with its effects.” She left the room, closing the door behind her.

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was sitting in the living room, reading a book. She looked up at Padmé’s approach.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Padmé,” she said.

“On the contrary. I think that you fighting your own battles is the _last_ thing we need right now,” Padmé said.

“I can’t just sit and wait while the galaxy cracks around me,” Obi-Wan retorted.

“Your problem is that you can’t sit and wait at all,” Padmé countered. “You’re rash, Obi-Wan. You take risks because you feel it’s your duty to do _something_. From what you’ve told me about him, I should blame Qui-Gon Jinn for that.” Obi-Wan opened her mouth, but Padmé cut her off abruptly. “No, don’t bother to defend your master. I didn’t mean any disrespect to him, and you know I’m right.” Padmé sighed. “I should have seen this coming.” Obi-Wan sat up a bit straighter, like a terrier scenting a rat. Keen blue eyes sheared right through Padmé.

“What do you mean?” Her voice was hard, sharp, peremptory.

“I should have seen it during that debacle with Clovis. I _did_ see it. But still I ignored it. I thought it was fine.” Obi-Wan made a little gesture with her good hand, urging Padmé to continue. Padmé sat down next to Obi-Wan on the couch. “I _knew_ Anakin was jealous then. It was an obstacle—a danger, even—to my mission.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Obi-Wan said softly. “Anakin’s always been all about the gestures, never the intentions. What he sees is… is _all_ he gets. For him, posturing _is_ reality.” Padmé turned away.

“No. It’s my fault. I had to pose as a helpless, needy, brainless damsel in distress. I had to give Clovis what he wanted, for my mission’s sake. But by posing, I became exactly what I posed as, and it… wasn’t good for me, or for Anakin. I walked straight into trouble, and I didn’t even see it coming. I fulfilled the mission, but…” Padmé shrugged. “It wasn’t smart.” Obi-Wan looked down. Padmé tried in vain to look into her face.

“You’ve been through the same thing, haven’t you?” she asked, almost eagerly. “With Rachelle Hardeen.” Obi-Wan’s mouth twisted.

“Palpatine _played_ me,” she growled. “Anakin should have been told.” She twisted away from the hand Padmé tried to put on her good shoulder. “That I almost fell into my role troubles me. That Palpatine played me infuriates me. That Anakin wasn’t told… it doesn’t surprise me. It disappoints me, but it doesn’t surprise me.”

“We may play the fool this time,” Padmé said, firmly, “but we are _not_ fools. Not this time.” She gestured at Obi-Wan’s back. “How are you doing?”

“It’s going to scar,” Obi-Wan said. “I still have the scars from my duel with Dooku.”

“How do _you_ feel about that?” Padmé asked. Obi-Wan shrugged.

“There’s not much for me to be vain about, Padmé.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Padmé chided, gesturing for Obi-Wan to sit down and loosening the dressing on the lightsaber wound. “How can you not have noticed your admirers? They’re not exactly subtle—practically falling down to kiss the ground you walk on.” She could hear the confused frown in Obi-Wan’s voice.

“My _admirers_?” Padmé didn’t have to be Force-sensitive to know what Obi-Wan was thinking: _I liked it better when I was anonymous_.

“We’ve all got them,” she said. “Particularly those of us who are dashing, larger-than-life figures of adventure and romance—and especially the ones who aren’t hard on the eyes, either.” She could tell Obi-Wan was rolling her eyes, but Padmé went on smugly removing the bandages. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed them,” she said.

“Evidently I can,” Obi-Wan retorted.

“Hold still,” Padmé chided. Obi-Wan hissed through her teeth, but otherwise didn’t react as the last bandages fell away, exposing the dreadful slash to the cool air. Padmé stared at it and swallowed uneasily, feeling a little bit sick.

“It looks very inflamed,” she said at last, unwilling to touch it to verify. Obi-Wan shook her head slightly, short copper hair flying loosely.

“Just accelerated tissue regeneration. It’s not infected. I would know.” Padmé swallowed again. “If there’s no more bacta, use the lidocaine. It might at least help with the pain.” Obi-Wan said, her voice disturbingly level. Padmé dabbed bacta onto the wound, gathering her thoughts.

“I think there may be something wrong with you,” she finally said and inwardly flinched. Then again, there wasn’t a tactful way to say what she was thinking. Obi-Wan laughed quietly, bitterly.

“This is what happens to a nation at war, Padmé,” she said quietly. “You were lucky on Naboo. It could have been so much worse.” Padmé drew in a slow breath. Every word burned her like a red-hot brand, but she knew Obi-Wan was only being honest, not minimizing the suffering of the Naboo thirteen years ago. Obi-Wan was incapable of pettiness.

“You’ve still got the scars from your duel with Dooku,” Padmé said softly. Obi-Wan turned her head slightly.

“Lightsaber burns don’t heal easily,” she said.

“You’re going to carry this all your life?” Padmé asked, horrified.

“Soon, it won’t hurt any more. In a week, I’ll have forgotten it was ever there.” Padmé stood, tying off the bandages.

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, but even at a time like this, I have to report to the Senate.” Obi-Wan stood up quickly.

“You could be in danger, Padmé,” she said seriously.

“My job doesn’t go away just because I’m in danger,” Padmé said. Obi-Wan’s mouth pulled into a displeased twist, but she didn’t speak up. Unsatisfied, but knowing she wouldn’t win the argument, Padmé got up to get ready for the Senate session.

* * *

 

Padmé’s violet Senate dress was becoming well-worn. She hoped she was more subtle by not wearing black; black was the color of power, and to wear it now would be risky. However, purple was the color of loss, and she thought that was somewhat appropriate to the situation.

Not that Palpatine would care.

Padmé did have one black dress still left out of storage—she was saving it for the day Palpatine fell. Until then—it would not be the first time she had fooled her enemies by looking weak and submissive.

Padmé finished buttoning her dress and tying her collar closed, then nodded to Teckla, who carefully lifted Padmé’s headdress into position. Padmé gave it a moment to settle, then Teckla began to work the headdress into place as Padmé double-checked her makeup.

“Thank you, Teckla,” she murmured, picked up the boutonnière from the side table, then left the apartment. Captain Typho fell in with her as she exited, keeping a watchful eye as they made their way to the Senate building.

She barely registered Palpatine’s speech—more violations of their rights as citizens that she could not, in all good conscience, vote for—but caught Bail Organa’s eye and held up the boutonnière, a single iris surrounded by small zinnias. Bail’s eyes widened and he shifted his cloak over one arm. Padmé smiled. Message received.

As soon as they got out of the meeting, Bail hurried over to talk to her. “You have news of one of our absent friends?” he asked, somehow managing to appear calm. Padmé nodded.

“Our mutual friend asks you if you remember your first meeting on Zigoola,” she said quietly. Bail gave a small sigh of surprise.

“It’s been a week and I hadn’t heard of her or from her,” he said. “I imagined… blaster shots in the back. An unmarked grave.” Padmé’s lips twitched into a smile.

“She does have a habit of making herself a nuisance to the wrong people,” she said quietly. “But, she wasn’t born to die with a laser in her back.”

“Breha will be relieved,” he said. Padmé tilted her head.

“I wasn’t aware that your wife also knew her.”

“Oh yes. Breha entertained our mutual friend for a long weekend when she was ordered on retreat.”

“How did Breha keep her from…” Padmé made a vague gesture that might have signified the swing of a lightsaber, if you looked closely. “I’m looking for advice here, Bail.”

“I don’t envy you,” Bail said. “Try guilt-tripping her. Breha said that that was what worked best.” Padmé raised an eyebrow incredulously.

“It’s hard to imagine a guilt trip stopping our friend from doing exactly what she wanted,” she said.

“Play up that you’re her hostess. It’s almost ridiculously easy to make her feel guilty.” Padmé shook her head.

“That hasn’t been my experience.”

“Well… good luck.”

Ordinarily they would have said “may the Force be with you,” but in the current circumstances, it wasn’t wise.

“Say hello to Breha for me,” Padmé said, then nodded to Typho, who escorted her away from the Senate building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fialleril's meta on Naboo color symbolism makes an appearance here--you can check out the original post here: http://fialleril.tumblr.com/post/145333294961/what-about-black-in-naboo-culture  
> Okay, this is the end of the chapters I had completed already. From now on, they go up as I finish them. Please don't bother me about it too much--I have schoolwork to complete and a job search to embark upon as well as writing projects to do. Thank you for your consideration!


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